Unfortunately, we weren't able to get tickets to the show online, but were told that there were still seats available at a "First Come, First Serve" basis. Disappointed, and also hoping to save his vacation days for a string of interviews he's hoping to get after sending out his resume to a dozen places, he decided not to fill out a sheet of paper verifying that he had the day off. It'd be one thing if we had tickets, but just waiting around for four hours downtown, hoping that someone with tickets would get into an accident, just wasn't a good enough reason. Especially because he really needs a new job.
When he woke up that day, he had the world on his shoulders. He hates his job, but combined with the disappointment that we were unable to get tickets, and that he was going to miss the tourbus, it was almost too much. While he was getting ready for work and I was still in bed half-asleep, he as telling me all the serious foodie questions I needed to ask if I got in.
He went into work, and I went back to sleep.
At 8:39 my phone rang. It was Initials.
He hadn't realized that the paperwork involved in asking for the day off was mostly just a reminder to his boss to put it on the big calendar. He was at work for 30 minutes, and had a big sale, and then his boss stopped by his cubicle asking why he came in to work today.
Instead of being annoyed with himself, he was delighted that he would have the day off. He called to make sure it was ok that he came back over to my place, and we could hit the farmer's market, maybe get something signed by the Top Chef people, do some errands, and hit the Jazz at Five free concert that evening.
He booked it back to my place, and we went out to breakfast, and then stopped by the Top Chef Trailer and put our name on the list. We didn't get into the first demonstration, so we wasted time at the farmer's market. We didn't get into the second show, so we wasted time walking around downtown. And I found $60 on the ground, so I took us out to lunch. Awesome.
Our names were called for the third and last demonstration. We climbed the stairs into the mysterious ugly-orange Top Chef Tour Trailer. It was fairly comfortable, air conditioned, with about 30 chairs set up so the audience could see what the two presenters were making inside one of the smallest food prep areas known to man.
The Top Chefs for our session were Stephanie, winner of Season 4, and Dale, gaycub finalist from Season 3.
After watching a ridiculously long intro on the digital TVs at the front of the room, Stephanie and Dale walked in and began to cook for us. They had both worked together at a couple of restaurants in Chicago before they joined the show, and they were friends and had some fun banter while cooking.
They didn't really do a good job explaining what they were doing, or what they were making. After a quick diversion playing up their audience (We knew we were in Wisconsin, so we had to do something with cheese), they got to cooking and the audience got to asking inane questions. "What was it like being on a reality show?" "What was Hung really like?" "How has your life changed being on the show?" and other questions that are asked to every reality show contestant.
They made a fruit salad topped with fresh-made cheese ravioli with a lemon honey vinaigrette. It was alright, but considering the quantity they needed to make and the size of the kitchen, as well as the distractions of answering questions, it was a good showing.
After the show, we got in line to get signed head shots. I got the brilliant idea to get Dale to sign my chest, because I am a geek like that, and I think it would be funny to get a minor celebrity to sign my chest—why should all the 80s rock stars get all the fun? I unbuttoned a few more buttons on my shirt, and when we got to the front of the line, while Initials was making some small talk with Stephanie, I blurted it out: "Will-you-sign-my-chest-Dale?"
There was a moment of filled silence, the way there is in TV shows, and then everyone started laughing. He said no, it was inappropriate because there were too many little kids around. While he was signing the headshot, he then said that maybe, if we weren't in public, he would have. I asked if he wanted my number, and he laughed again. I wasn't kidding. Initials and I got our headshots and started to walk away, doing that thing where we both were wearing shit-eating grins, but not really saying anything, just smiling and giggling slightly every couple of breaths. I looked back, and Dale was totally checking out my ass.
It wasn't for another block that I realized that Stephanie had written on her headshot that she would have signed my chest had I asked her instead. Lame!
When I get access to Initials' digital scanner, I'll upload their headshots as proof.
